Keep Your Pantheon (and School) Page 3
STRABO: Wait, sir! Wait.
(Lupus Albus turns back.)
LUPUS ALBUS: My thoughts are elsewhere.
STRABO: Just the one moment, if I may.
(Pause.)
I am an actor, sir, whose life, at best, is a series of shams. We neither farm, nor hunt. We are debarred from bearing arms. By those who toil in the world we are despised. Except for that one moment, when we are permitted, on the stage, to make them laugh. Or cry. In sympathy. Not even with ourselves. Good, sir, but for that better being we impersonate. For we, ourselves, are nothing.
(Pause.)
And we have offended you: who bleed for the State. And should we, having wronged you, suffer at your hands: though, in our weakness, we may weep, in our deeper soul we know the punishment is just . . . Turn, turn, ye gods . . . your face now toward us—now away—howe’er your visage shines, your hand is on us all.
(Pause.)
LUPUS ALBUS: Your name, Actor.
STRABO: Sir, I am but Strabo.
LUPUS ALBUS: That speech . . .
STRABO: Sir . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: Is it not from The Metathon by Plautus?
STRABO: Your Honor’s learning is outpaced only by his bravery.
LUPUS ALBUS: Yes. Thank you. How would you describe that speech?
STRABO: It is a humble plea for mercy.
(Pause.)
LUPUS ALBUS: You asked how you might make right your offense.
STRABO: Bid me, sir . . . and the tide shall obey the moon.
LUPUS ALBUS: My Tenth African Legion is to appear, tomorrow, before Caesar. In disgrace . . .
STRABO: May all the gods, in their combined omnipotence . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: . . . Indeed . . . Might you. On our behalf . . . give that speech. In our name. To Caesar? . . . (Pause) To plead for us.
STRABO: Give the speech . . . before Caesar? . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: Yes.
STRABO: Plead before Caesar?
LUPUS ALBUS: Yes.
STRABO: Sir, were I to live ten thousand lives, I could not wish, in them, for any greater honor . . .
TITUS: But, General.
LUPUS ALBUS: Yes, Titus.
(Titus takes Lupus Albus aside and whispers.)
(To Titus) What? (Titus whispers some more. Pause) Thank you.
(Lupus Albus, sadly, turns back to the troupe.)
I am reminded that under the rules of war, the audience with Caesar is closed.
STRABO: Closed. Oh no.
PELARGON: Closed, what does that mean? . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: Only the members of the summoned Legion may attend the Imperial Audience.
TITUS: General.
(Titus whispers to Lupus.)
STRABO: What is he saying . . .
LUPUS ALBUS (To Titus): . . . in what capacity?
(Titus whispers some more.)
(To Strabo) He has reminded me. Of the position of Auxiliary . . .
PELARGON: Auxiliary, what is that? . . .
LUPUS ALBUS (To Titus): But, that hasn’t been employed in years . . . I doubt . . .
STRABO: We’ll do it!
(Titus whispers to Lupus Albus.)
PELARGON: What is it?
LUPUS ALBUS: I am reminded that, as per our charter, should one, of his Own Free Will, pledge himself . . .
STRABO: We’ll do it!
LUPUS ALBUS: . . . bare his breast, and pledge himself to the Tenth African Legion.
STRABO: We’ll do it!
LUPUS ALBUS: He may be inducted, as Auxiliary Member.
STRABO: Count me in, count us in.
PELARGON: Don’t do it.
STRABO: What do we have to do? . . .
PELARGON: Don’t do it . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: Say the pledge, bare the breast, and suffer the Solemn Ceremonial Blow . . .
STRABO: . . . the Solemn Ceremonial Blow?
PELARGON: I told you.
STRABO: No, uh, Pelargon, explain to him why. (To Lupus Albus) “The Solemn Ceremonial Blow . . .” would not actually be the “thing,” you know, and the kid’s getting over a cold. So, to bare his breast . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: . . . which Blow may, by statute, “neither cause pain, nor draw blood.”
STRABO: The Solemn Ceremonial Blow, as I was saying, is that blow I seek. Induct us then, O Fell Scourge of Phrygia, and let us plead your case before great Caesar!
LUPUS ALBUS (Receiving the ceremonial sword): Kneel then and bare your breast.
PELARGON: I don’t like it.
STRABO: It can’t cause pain nor draw blood—you sissy.
(They kneel and bare their breasts.)
LUPUS ALBUS: “By the hilt of that sword which won Rome from the wilderness. The Legion forever.” Say it.
ALL: “By the hilt of that sword which won Rome from the wilderness. The Legion forever.”
(Lupus Albus touches the side of the sword to their chests lightly.)
LUPUS ALBUS: Arise, Auxiliary Members of the Tenth African Legion.
(They rise.)
STRABO: Oh, how the world shines new formed, to a member of this noble band . . .
LUPUS ALBUS: Enjoy your rest, my brothers. For tomorrow, you stand before Caesar. Unshackle them.
STRABO (To Pelargon): Well, what did I tell you? You’re always looking on the dark side . . . (To Lupus Albus) Oh, Great Praetor, Lupus Albus . . . White Wolf of Phrygia . . .
(He turns back to Pelargon, then to Lupus Albus again, but Lupus Albus and his men have gone.)
(To himself) Gaius Paulus, you’re better off drowned, ’cause who’s gonna be the favorite of Caesar? And the cork merchants in Sicily can hire Gaius Paulus, dead though he is which may improve his acting . . .
PELARGON: Don’t defame the dead.
STRABO: Because tomorrow morning, we, Auxiliary Members of the Tenth African Legion . . .
(Titus enters with two other men in military attire.)
PELARGON: Who is this? . . .
TITUS: This here’s the armorer . . .
(The Armorer’s Assistant begins taking measurements. First Philius, then Pelargon, then Strabo.)
STRABO: Ah. Yes, my comrade, yes. The armorer, who, no doubt, has come to strike off our shackles.
TITUS: . . . who’s come to measure you for your ceremonial attire . . .
PELARGON: Ceremonial attire?
STRABO: Our armor, Pelargon—armor—as befits Members of the Legion!
PHILIUS: . . . We get a suit of armor? . . .
ARMORER: Chest?
ARMORER’S ASSISTANT (As he measures each of the men): Thirty-eight. Forty-one. Forty-six.
ARMORER: Waist?
ARMORER’S ASSISTANT (Measuring): Twenty-nine. Thirty-eight. Forty-two.
ARMORER (To Strabo): Watch that mead!!
STRABO (Pats his belly): Well, you know . . .
PHILIUS: We get a suit of armor. Oh good!
TITUS (To the Armorer): You forgot to do the neckpiece.
ARMORER (Departing): They won’t need the neckpiece.
TITUS: Oh, that’s right.
PHILIUS: Why won’t we need the neckpiece?
ARMORER (Exiting): ’Cause if you’re wearing the neckpiece, your head won’t fit on the chopping block.
(The Armorers exit.)
STRABO: I think I’m missing something.
PELARGON: Why would they put our head on the chopping block?
TITUS: To chop off your head.
STRABO: Yes, thank you. Uh . . . (To Titus) Could you explain this to us?
TITUS: . . . You know.
PELARGON: Pretend we don’t know, and tell us.
TITUS: Caesar . . . ?
PHILIUS: . . . Yes . . . ?
TITUS: . . . as you know, recalled the Tenth African Legion to Rome . . .
PHILIUS: . . . We know that.
TITUS: Because we suffered an inglorious defeat.
STRABO: Yes that’s too bad.
TITUS: And in such cases . . .
PELARGON: . .
. oh no.
TITUS: The offending Legion. Must choose amongst itself . . .
PHILIUS: Um-mmm . . .
PELARGON: Oh, no . . .
TITUS: . . . three members.
PHILIUS: Oh, that would be us!
TITUS: To be publicly beheaded.
(Pause. He exits.)
PHILIUS: But, if you chop off our heads, we’ll die . . .
PELARGON: Will somebody shut that kid up.
Scene Three
Morning in the cell. The Herald passes outside the window.
HERALD:
See how the headsman’s scaffold on the grass
Salutes the wakeful as night steals away
Each knows though all forget that life must pass
How fortunate the man who knows the day.
Bactrian Lynx Brand Opium. Lynx Brand Opium. Look for the shining eyes on every packet. Get high and stay high, with Bactrian Lynx Brand Opium. It’ll get you through the Rainy seasons.
(Strabo pacing back and forth. The other two sitting in their cells. A rooster crows.)
STRABO (To Pelargon): All right. Here’s my plan: “Wake up, wake up, wake up. The kid has a tummyache.” The guard: “Help help help, this lovely young lad is in agony . . .” So on . . . The guard comes in, we hit him on the head . . .
PELARGON: And then what?
STRABO: We dress up as the guard.
PELARGON: We dress up as the guard?
STRABO: Well, yes. One of us . . .
PELARGON: It’s futile, Strabo. We’re in a dungeon. Surrounded. By the best-armed, most ferocious, and angriest men in Rome. Who are they angry at? They’re angry at us.
STRABO: Let’s . . .
PELARGON: And, Strabo, I am angry at you. I’m tired. They’re going to cut my head off in a half hour, and I don’t feel well.
PHILIUS: I’m frightened, Strabo.
STRABO: Hush, my Secluded Vale of Acanthis. Would I let anything befall you?
PHILIUS: They’re going to kill us, Strabo.
STRABO: Not while the Ichor of Imagination pulses through my veins.
PHILIUS: . . . And I wish I’d been better to you. What did you ask? I could have made you happy.
STRABO: Thank you.
PHILIUS: It’s just that you’re so old.
STRABO: Uh-huh.
PHILIUS: If you’d been younger . . .
STRABO: Hm.
PHILIUS: Or better looking . . .
STRABO: Yes . . . I’ve got to think . . .
(Titus enters.)
No, no, the hour is not yet at hand. No . . .
TITUS: Na, I’ve got some news. I’ve got some good news and some bad news.
PELARGON: . . . Tell us the news.
TITUS: Caesar has reconsidered. Your sentence has been changed!
STRABO: Our sentence has been changed. Oh, Zeus, oh, merciful Mars, God of War, who, in his wisdom . . . our sentence has been changed!
PELARGON: What’s the bad news?
TITUS: That is the bad news.
PHILIUS: They were going to cut our heads off. What could be worse news than that?
TITUS: Caesar has decided you are not to have your heads cut off as that is too merciful a death.
PELARGON: What’s he gonna do instead?
TITUS: You are to be castrated, and drawn and quartered.
(Pause.)
They hang you for about a half an hour, then, they cut you down, and cut out your entrails and put out your eyes, then . . .
STRABO: Yes, that’s quite all right.
TITUS: No, then it gets interesting, they—
PELARGON (Interrupting): Why did they change the sentence?
TITUS: Caesar . . .
STRABO: . . . Yes?
TITUS: Already incensed at the defeat of the Tenth African . . .
PELARGON: Yes, yes, we know that . . .
TITUS: Is further maddened by the loss, at sea, of the Troupe of Gaius Paulus. His favorite actors.
(Pause.)
STRABO: Oh.
PELARGON: What’s the good news?
TITUS: The good news . . . (Confidentially) . . . is that I’ve managed . . . at some personal expense . . . (Produces a goblet from under his cloak) . . . to sneak you in this . . .
PELARGON: What is it?
PHILIUS: . . . It’s a cup.
TITUS: It is a cup of wine. But, what is in the cup?
(Pause.)
PHILIUS: Wine.
TITUS: Yes, but what’s in the wine?
STRABO: What’s in the wine?
TITUS: Opium. There’s enough opium in here to kill a horse. If each of you drinks just one mouthful, you’ll be fine, when, when . . . (Offers the cup to Strabo)
PELARGON: I’d like my sip now, please.
STRABO: Wait, but, to quaff that cup would be tantamount to surrender . . .
TITUS: You bet.
STRABO: . . . Not while I have a plan.
PELARGON: I’d like my sip now, please.
STRABO: That’s why, you see, that’s why you never amounted to anything, Pelargon . . .
PHILIUS (To Pelargon): You told me you never amounted to anything because Strabo held you back out of jealousy . . .
STRABO: Oh, how cheap, Pelargon. How tawdry. Who has shared good and bad with you for twenty years. Now it comes out. Now. Facing death. Yes, take your sip. Quitter . . . Yes. Face death as you faced life—cravenly, abjectly. Take your sip.
PELARGON: Thank you. I will! Gimme the cup.
(Ramus enters.)
RAMUS: By the gods.
STRABO: Yeah, by the gods. And what is the thought I will bear. To my death?
RAMUS: Good morning.
STRABO: Your ingratitude. No. I do not need the opium, to dull my senses. You have dulled my senses.
(Titus starts to exit.)
No, actually. I’ll take the opium . . . thank you.
TITUS: Two sesterces . . .
STRABO: What?
TITUS: I can’t give it to you for nothing. ’F I get caught, it’s my job . . .
PHILIUS: Good morning, Ramus . . .
RAMUS: Good morning . . .
STRABO: I don’t have two sesterces.
TITUS (Takes back the cup): Sorry.
STRABO: Wait, wait, wait. Isn’t there anything . . .
TITUS: Lend me the kid for one half hour.
STRABO: You want me to trade this child for the cup of opium?
TITUS: Yes . . .
PELARGON: Done. Philius . . . ?
TITUS: Thank you.
STRABO: No, wait . . .
PELARGON: Philius, this fellow wants to tell you some of his war stories . . .
STRABO: Yes, no, wait, that wouldn’t be a good idea.
TITUS: Sounds like a good idea to me.
STRABO: Noo, you can’t have the child.
TITUS: Why not?
STRABO: Uh . . . his virginity is pledged to the Goddess Demeter.
TITUS: His virginity is pledged to the Goddess Demeter . . . ?
STRABO: As I have said . . . but this man (Referring to Pelargon) skilled in the arts of love . . .
RAMUS: I can attest to that . . .
STRABO: . . . this man . . .
TITUS: Ramus . . . ?
RAMUS: Titus . . . ? You know when I got up this morning . . .
STRABO: Will you shut up. Why did they let you in? . . .
TITUS: Let him in? Do you know who this is?
PELARGON: No.
TITUS: This is Ramus, who fought with the Tenth African Legion in the snows.
PHILIUS: What were you doing in the snows?
TITUS: We were lost.
STRABO: You were in the Tenth African Legion . . . ?
TITUS: In the Legion? . . . He saved the life of Lupus Albus Primus, the original White Wolf of Sardinia, whose son, the White Wolf of Phrygia, is our general today.
STRABO: He saved the life of the general’s father . . .
TITUS: Who, on his deathbed, yes, clasped to his bosom, h
is young son and said, “What e’er this soldier, Ramus, desires in life, my son, grant it to him.”
STRABO: Hold on now, and slow it down, the White Wolf of Phrygia, is pledged to grant this old bum’s wish? . . .
TITUS: . . . for anything under Heaven.
PELARGON: Do you think I could have that opium?
STRABO: BY ALL THE GODS AT ONCE—Good Ramus. Intercede for us, with Lupus Albus, that stern, though worthy, commander who holds our lives in his hand.
RAMUS: All right.
STRABO: Oh, thank you. Thank you.
RAMUS: But the one thing I came to tell you:
STRABO: Yes?
RAMUS: The coin you gave me . . .
STRABO: Yes?
RAMUS: . . . it’s counterfeit.
STRABO: I’ll make it right.
RAMUS: And I was concerned, that if you paid for a good luck charm with a bad coin, you might have Bad Luck.
STRABO: What truth there is in your words. (To Titus) Call your commander. To hear this good man’s appeal. Oh, ye gods, who lovingly grant absolution to the deepest sinner. Thank you from one who has, yet again, unearned, received your grace.
RAMUS: I’ll drink to that.
(Ramus grabs the goblet, drinks and falls down in a stupor. All stand around, looking at the fallen Ramus.)
PHILIUS: Oh, dear . . .
(Pause.)
TITUS: Did he drink it all?
PELARGON: Yes.
TITUS: There’s enough opium in there to sedate a musk ox.
STRABO: A “musk ox,” you say?
TITUS: As I have said.
STRABO: Could we get some more, please?
(Drumbeats.)
TITUS: Nope. We’re out of time. There’s the death drum.
(Drumbeats again.)
And so it’s time for your execution. (As he leaves the dungeon) FALL BACK, AND CLEAR THE PATH OF THE CONDEMNED.
(The drumbeats continue.)
CAESAR, IN HIS MERCY, GRANTS THEM ONE LAST MOMENT FOR REFLECTION.
PELARGON: . . . Well.
(Strabo comes downstage to orate.)
STRABO: “Yes, I have sinned. For I am mortal. And the gods know that all mortals sin and so inform us, taxing the sinner with that which he misnames Ill Fortune. But for its better name is Justice. How find we ourselves upon this stranded shore? The failure of a rope, whose loss split the sail? An inclement conjunction of wind and the tide? A moment’s folly inspiring the youth to seek his fortune on the sea . . . Until co-merged with that salt element, he knew himself unfitted for the regularity of Earth. Which bore him. And, in a half a glass may mourn him . . .”